Red shook her head at the star-studded name-dropping before she grabbed a black hoodie and strapped on the leather harness attached to a small demon hunting kit to her waist and upper thigh. She hung a hand-sized blessed silver cross on her belt. Red jammed the stake into her hoodie pocket before she left the hotel room with a quick text to Vic, forwarding the message from Kristoff.
She tried to tell herself that she was going to dig deeper into Kristoff, even as all her bubbling questions came back to Juniper St. James.
Chapter Thirteen
October 29th, 2018, Night, Club Vltava, Los Angeles, California
Pulling down the hood on her black zip-up sweater, Red put her hand on the blessed silver cross on her hip as she walked up to Club Vltava. Hiding a small pistol filled with wooden bullets, the leather demon hunting kit strapped to the top of her thigh and belt bounced with her quick steps.
The queue of fashionable clubbers stretched down the sidewalk, even at the early time of half past ten. In old sneakers, faded jeans, and a black tank top, she looked more like a girl about to do laundry than hit the hottest new club on Sunset Strip.
Red lifted her head to walk past the aspiring glamazons and part-time actors. She pushed her loose hair over her shoulder, hand brushing the clean bandage over the scabbed-over bite. The last time she was in this club, she had ended up with holes in her neck.
What was she doing?
She was supposed to be investigating Julia Crispin, not Juniper St. James. Questions dug at her, pricking at her curiosity like thorns. All she had found in LA were questions. Out of all the players in this game, only one wanted to tell her anything: Kristoff. At every turn, she walked into the fight blind, because she didn’t know what her enemy saw—Red or Juniper? She didn’t remember her enemies, but they remembered her.
Kristoff stood at the head of the line beside the large bouncer. Blond hair slicked back and wearing a dark fitted suit without a tie, he held his hands behind his back. His blue eyes studied her approach without a glance at the other women waiting in their mini dresses and heels. He grinned. “I’d offer my arm, but I don’t suppose you would take it.”
“And I thought you didn’t know me.” Red stopped in front of him. “You said you had something to show me.”
“Do you want something to drink first?”
“I’m not up to the dress code.” Red looked down at her outfit, taking her hand off the silver cross on her belt to reveal it. She kept the pistol in her kit. He didn’t need to see all her cards.
“Business it is.” Kristoff nodded and led her into the entrance of his building but instead of taking the elevator up to Club Vltava, he guided her through the glass double doors on the ground floor. The low lights in the open lobby of the gallery were compensated by the ceiling fixtures highlighting the framed photography on the walls.
Glancing around, she turned her focus back to Kristoff. “Everything is on the record and I expect you to be honest.”
“I will tell you the truth as I know it. That is why you are here, isn’t it? The truth?” Kristoff tilted his head, considering her answer.
Red didn’t like the X-Ray vision in his glance. She looked away. “Why did you mention a dark room?”
“A person’s passion is where you see them in their truth.” Kristoff led her past the white walls filled with photography both hyper realistic and surreal, of people from around the globe. Not a single print was of a building or landscape, only humans living out a second of mortal life, captured for eternity.
Red let the silence grow as her mind rattled with what she knew about him, but it was dates and named events like the Sack of Paris. She knew he had been dubbed the Butcher of Cologne after a vampire clan battle. It was listed in all the accounts that she had found, but only Julia noted his gift with photography. “Did the Byrnes chose you because you were a photographer? I read that Delilah demanded each member of her clan to be skilled in an art.”
“She didn’t demand that of her minions.” Kristoff laughed. “I was chosen to shine boots. Much like in business, I am a self-made man in my creativity.”
“You said that you had a proposal for me? Enough with the gallery tour, let’s get to business.”
“My business model is to mix business with pleasure.” Kristoff looked down, leaning closer to her.
Red crossed her arms. “You can explain and flirt at the same time.”
“I need your help.” Kristoff’s smile grew serious as his glibness disappeared. “Julia Crispin’s untimely demise behind my club is raising questions from more than flame-haired hunters. I think it’s a frame up. When the surveillance footage was returned, it was edited, and half my outdoor cameras were broken. I saw the recording of her walking out of the club, going across the street then toward the alley. She didn’t come back the same, much like my tape. I’m guilty of many things but not her.”
“You want me to clear your good name?” Red raised an eyebrow.
“I would pay. I know hunters love their bounties.”
“I can be paid off, but if this is a goose hunt so you can make time with me, I’m out,” Red said automatically before she remembered her newly acquired trust fund. Having Fuck You Money still hadn’t sunk in. She bit her tongue as he began to speak.
“I am an ambassador with the Supreme of Portland, Prince Marek, himself. This Summit isn’t just a meet-and-greet for folks to take back to their districts. Real players are in town. I’m already in hot water since I claimed you so audaciously.” A small smile bloomed on his face.
“You could have the grace to be ashamed.”
“Shame is hard when you don’t have a soul. I would have preferred more of a courtship. But I won’t lie to you. I will never regret choosing you, especially if it keeps you alive. You see my bite as a chain. I see it as a tool for you to use.” Kristoff took her over to a makeshift white portrait backdrop and picked up a camera on a stool. “Interactive exhibit. There will be two pictures left on the reel.”
“You’re not taking my picture.”
“You’re talking mine. It should be worth a thousand words.” Kristoff handed her the camera and strode to the backdrop before turning around. “Now, for the record, I don’t prefer studio setups. I like taking my pictures where the action is.”
Red studied the thick lens and the dials on top of the camera. Part of her wanted to play with the buttons, but she figured it would already have been adjusted for the gallery lighting. “Why did you come to Los Angeles early for the Blood Summit? Couldn’t an underling open a bar?” She lifted the camera up to study the subtle play of surprise on his handsome face through the viewfinder. “What? I’m putting some action in this studio.”
“Action, is it?”
“An interrogation is an action.” She bit her lip to restrain her curving smirk. Her picture-taking finger grew itchy.
“That isn’t a digital camera. You have to choose your shots carefully.” He dipped his head, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.
“I am.” Red smirked, seeing the distraction on his face through the viewfinder as she put him off balance. “Answer my question.”
Kristoff regained his composure and straightened his shoulders. “I came early because my master wanted eyes on the ground.”
“Like a red-haired vampire who frequents bars in the Valley?”
“You’ve seen Donal then.” Kristoff nodded.
“Did you send him to watch me?” Red asked.
“No. Independent orders. He didn’t even recognize you. He did a video call so I could see the brawl. An early birthday present, to see my sire staked.” Kristoff perked up at the thought before his brow furrowed. “He was sadly wrong, but I spotted you in the background, rushing out the door. It gave me enough warning to take my men to help. When I only found Quinn, I went to see if you made it home. I assume the explosions at Gianni Construction were your work.”
“Someone had to deal with all those minions,” Red said.
“You’re brave,” he said, chin lower
ed, and his blue gaze met hers. His face had seemed so arrogant earlier, yet for a moment, it lay open and vulnerable.
Red snapped the picture. “Or bullheaded. I’m still working that one out.”
Kristoff narrowed his eyes as a name formed on his lips before he swallowed it and straightened his shoulders. He said instead, “Courage can be mistaken for stubbornness.”
Red looked down at the screen, avoiding his stare. “It’s harder to decide when I find myself playing America’s Next Top Model with a vampire.”
“I might have been called a butcher, but I won’t harm you, Red.”
“Harm means different things to humans and vampires.”
“You’re right,” Kristoff said without being flippant. His expression grew more earnest—if conflicted—as he searched for his next word.
Red didn’t know if he was reaching for a lie or a truth. Maybe he didn’t either. She took another picture. “I think that is all of them.” Lowering the camera, she tilted her head trying to guess his next move. He looked different in the camera’s eye.
“Then let me show you how the magic happens.” Kristoff smiled, oddly innoculous like a shy child showing off his best toy, before he caught himself. Restraining the boyishness, his reserved cool returned as he gestured to an unlabeled door.
“Before I let the dastardly vampire lead me off to a secret room, I want to know why I’m really here. It wasn’t to take your picture, and you could’ve asked for help in your letter. You had something else to show me.” Red lifted her chin, having to raise her face to meet his over six-foot height. “Let’s keep to business.”
“So professional.” Kristoff dipped his head and put his hands behind his back.
“We’ve played enough.” Red raised her hands in frustration before resting them on her hips. She echoed old advice that Vic had given her. She wasn’t certain who the statement was really for—him or herself. “Being focused on the job is how a hunter stays alive.”
“You have someone else watching your back now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“You say you’re protecting me, but I know it’s to protect your territory. There is a difference.” She’d had a long night and a longer week, wading through vampire shenanigans, and had the bags under her eyes to prove it. Red gestured to herself in slouchy jeans, leather kit on her thigh, and a zip-up hoodie. “If I’m so precious, why show me off at the Ball?”
“I claimed you. I want them all to know.” Kristoff said it with all the emotion of a human declaring they were running to the store to get milk.
“Ugh. Be less gross.” Red made a face. “I’m doing my job and questioning you, but I haven’t forgiven you for biting me.”
“I told you I’d be honest.” Kristoff shrugged.
“And paternalistic.” Red shook her head. “Nothing you’ve said tonight makes me think that you’re content to see me walk out of your life. You’re playing nice so I put down my guard. It doesn’t matter that you’re happy to take it slow. You’re immortal. Any second, you could get bored, and this gentleman act falls away.”
“I’d rather be a knight.” Kristoff held out his hand to take the camera.
“You didn’t address my concerns, Sir Vampire.” Red handed the camera over, frowning.
Kristoff looked down at the camera before he set it aside on the stool by the interactive art exhibit. He turned around, keeping his gaze steady. “I might have claimed you, but I don’t own you. People can’t own someone else. She told me that.”
“How progressive.” Red laughed dryly, crossing her arms, fighting the urge to squirm with curiosity at the reference of Juniper. “Now, I’ll sleep easy.”
“I’m growing fond of you, but I’ve only just swiped right. It's a bit early to chain you up and have you as my concubine, don’t you think? Buy me dinner first.” Kristoff mirrored her posture, crossing his arms, an amused challenge in his smirk. The handsome arrogance, remote yet inviting, returned to his expression.
Rolling her eyes, Red jerked her thumb toward the lobby. She had played enough games. Just like in the nightclub, she was letting herself get close to the charming spider because she was curious about the intricacies of the web. The part of her that told her she was being a dumbass for being alone with him grew louder. “Time’s a-wasting, and if this is a preview of what you have to tell me, I’m ready to bounce.”
“Before you call the cavalry, you’ll want to see this.” He guided her around a white detached wall.
Red followed him through another wing of the gallery. They passed an eclectic collection of photography like Alice B. Toklas in black and white, Eartha Kitt radiating power, and a vibrant life-sized Angelyne in the Muses Exhibit. Red glanced to Kristoff before she stopped.
Jaw dropping, she stared at the sepia portrait on the wall. It pulled her to it like a magnet.
It was her.
Or rather, it looked like her.
Exactly like her.
A foot wide, the antique gilded frame of carved rosettes wrapped around the oval photo. In a dark Medieval bodice, flowing white skirt, and her loose curls tumbling down the cape on her back, the young woman looked like a Victorian dream of Camelot.
Red knew she was the new kid in doppelgänger land, but she didn’t expect it to feel like this to finally face her. It wasn’t like looking at a mirror; it was like looking at another world.
Juniper St. James sat on a high-backed chair, knees facing forward, but turned at the waist to lean her elbow on the armrest. Chin under her knuckles, she stared at the camera. She had been posed before, but this wasn’t one. The photographer had caught a small wistful smile in a secret moment. Her eyes looked up at the photographer and not the camera.
Kristoff’s voice started low when he began. “I thought I was dreaming when I saw you. I had them so often after she died. Dreams where I would call out, but she would always disappear.”
Red couldn’t look away from Juniper and the face that could be hers. There was a sadness in her eyes that her dreamy smile couldn’t reach. Kristoff had captured a moment of… Was it bittersweet longing? “When was this taken?”
“Prague in 1899 before a masquerade ball. I took all the women’s pictures. This was one I snuck of her.”
“1899? That means she died a year later in August.”
Kristoff nodded. “It was the beginning of the end for her. It was the end of the beginning for me.”
“You were both so young.” Red’s voice sounded far away to her own ears as she studied Juniper. This was the woman that they all saw.
“I was made only months before.”
“Did she know that Lucas was going to turn her?”
“Maybe she knew what was to come, but she didn’t accept it. She had a plan.” Keeping his focus on Juniper, Kristoff’s voice grew hoarse. “I didn’t know that things were going to change. When I took that picture, all I knew was that I would follow her into hell. If I had my way then, I would have.”
Red looked away from the raw emotion showing through the cracks in his control. “What was she like?”
“Clever. Her hands were always moving. Fixing clocks, flipping through a book, always stained with ink. I noticed that first about her. It was later I realized her courage. A wildfire that not even a gilded cage could extinguish.” Kristoff grinned and shook his head. “Women weren’t supposed to be interested in science or adventure. She defied convention even as she made use of it.”
“How did she end up with vampires?” Red squinted at Juniper St. James peeking back at her from the frame. The portrait showed a woman who was young, but hard experience lingered in her eyes. Quinn and Kristoff described a capable woman. Where had it gone wrong?
“She kept her secrets well, collecting them like books. I knew she was from America. Juniper had been on the run from a warlock when Lucas found her in England. Maybe that was why she stayed so long with him.” Kristoff stared up at the portrait. “I knew her favorite book, her favorite tea, but I don’t even kn
ow if that was her real name.”
Red had been told that Kristoff had a thing for Juniper, but it wasn’t infatuation in his voice; it was devotion. “What was she to you?”
“She was the making of me.” Kristoff met her gaze with intense certainty.
Red felt her heartbeat pick up. Her palms started to sweat. She blurted out. “Was this taken when you started your affair with her?”
“Before. You’d be surprised to know that it was Quinn that opened that door.”
“He said he was a villain in the story.” She avoided his look. “I didn’t know he played matchmaker too.”
“Quinn Byrnes is a vampire whose brutality and cunning was legendary. You wouldn’t know it from how he slouches around now.” Kristoff pursed his lips, then shook his head as if the peculiarities of souled vampires were beyond his pay grade. “A master of mayhem, he liked to set up schemes and pull the strings—especially when he was bored. One day, he decided he wanted to sketch Juniper. The short of it was that I saw more than I should have of my sire’s courtesan.”
A Witch Called Red: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 1) Page 17
